


Future's So Defined

by shihadchick



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Casual Sex, Closeted Character, First Time, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-21 22:15:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11366727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: Nick's supposed to be used to this; he's a veteran, he's been there before, he knows the ropes. But a tough season is going to highlight some things that are brand new for him, not the least of which are the rookies he can't seem to stop noticing.And that attention is definitely going both ways.





	Future's So Defined

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Firalla11](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firalla11/gifts).



> Thank you to my beta for going above and beyond on this one. 
> 
> Fira, I hope you enjoy this; you're the best and you deserve the best. <3
> 
> I don't believe any major warnings apply, but if you think I've missed something please do comment/let me know so I can either amend it or update the notes as appropriate. Title from a lyric in Come Talk to Me, appropriately enough for these characters.

Nick's not that old, he knows he's not. He's barely 25, and while that might be starting to feel older in the NHL, it's just—it's not. He's used to playing with much older guys, guys at the ends of their careers, guys on their third and fourth contracts. Guys who are gonna wind up in the Hall of Fame.

He is, admittedly, still playing with at least one of those, but Johnny's the same age he is, as weird as that is to think; Nick remembers being right there watching him get drafted.

But even after seven years in the league, Nick's still not quite used to how young the rookies seem. He is, admittedly, one of the youngest guys on the Isles himself, and that's also all kinds of weird after how many guys his own age he was around in Rockford and Chicago, but—

Well, most of the time he feels like a grownup.

He's got an apartment, a dog, a steady income and an expensive watch. Hell, he even has _investments_ , although mostly those consist of paying someone very good at their job to take care of that for him.

But he's far removed from the awkward college freshman who wasn't sure how well he fit on the team, from the lonely 20 year old who spent half his week driving I90, or even just the kid who moved out and spent weeks youtubing how to do some embarrassingly basic things that he didn't want to actually ask anyone.

Its different now; he's playing top line minutes, getting recognized for it, playing for a team who've made no mistake in showing their appreciation for him. He's got good friends on and off the team; guys he trusts, guys he's known for years now, been through the good and the bad with.

It's still not going to make him any happier to talk on camera, or any better at pulling himself together to give anything more than the same old platitudes every interview, but in pretty much every way that matters, he's doing the best he ever has.

And it's still hard not to notice how painfully young the kids are at training camp. Most of them are trying to hide it, to look like this is all old hat to them and they've been there before, but the edges of the excitement and the nervousness peek out from behind those masks every now and then, and Nick can't quite help a surge of protective fondness.

And then there's Beauvillier, one of the youngest guys who's still there, hasn't been sent back to Bridgeport or to his junior team like they're pretty sure Matty's gonna be. He's so quiet, eyes big behind his visor as he takes it all in, nods his head and does as he's told in the drills, somehow managing to keep up with the guys that are bigger and stronger and a helluva lot more experienced than he is.

Nick has to admire that; the strong will and the determination behind it all, and he can't help but recognize a little of himself in that look.

Can't help but recognize a little of himself in some of the other looks he's caught on Beau's face, and that's—

That's probably why Nick's going to have to talk to him.

And maybe a little why he's _going to hell_ , because fuck, Beau is _nineteen_.

* * *

They start the season off with a bit of a stumble, right themselves at the home opener, and then turn around and gift wrap a couple of points to the Sharks the very next game. It's not ideal, overall, but Beau notches his first pro goal at least, and Nick grins down the bench at him, hardly gets more than a glimpse of his face beaming with pride as JT musses up his hair and yells something encouraging at him.

Sure, he's slighter than almost everyone else on the team, other than Berubs, who's a fucking beanpole if ever there was one, and not like goalies really count for that, anyway. But other than that, he's keeping his head above water, he's fitting in on the team, and as it turns out, Matty doesn't get out of the press box before they send him back to the T-birds. Beau's the one they tell that he's sticking around, he can get settled in the hotel or consider getting a place.

Nick and Princer share a glance when Beau gets back to the locker room, the news written all over his face, and tell him he's getting dinner with them.

"My treat," Nick says firmly, because sometimes the rookies get saddled with a lot, and Beau doesn't exactly have anyone else to spread that out with. And if Nick's potentially going to be ruining his night, well. The least he can do is buy him a decent steak first.

Dinner goes just fine; they rope Stromer in as well, just to make it a little fairer, and looking around the table then, well, Nick doesn't feel all that much older. For once.

Ryan's a distraction in and of himself, obviously worrying over how his own brother's doing as a rookie over with the Yotes. There'd been money on the board when they played them, of course, and Ryan had been chirping nineteen to the dozen when he managed to score that game, but he spends more time than usual over dinner pulling his phone out of his pocket and checking in, frowning occasionally and sighing.

"You can't do anything but, like. Be supportive and shit," Shane tells Ryan, not without sympathy, and Stromer just sighs again and says, "I know. Just…"

"Yeah," Shane says, and he and Ryan exchange a look that's heavy with experience; with knowing how it feels to get sent back, down to the CHL or to the A, being told you're not fast enough or strong enough or good enough.

Nick shifts uneasily. He did his time in the AHL too, sure. But that was less about the Hawks wanting more and more about the salary cap, and that's not a secret. He figures he's better off keeping his mouth shut for this part of the conversation, at least.

* * *

They wrap things up before it gets too late, and Nick steadies himself with a deep breath after he signs the slip for his card, handing the folder with the bill back to the attentive waiter. Beau looks a little less overwhelmed now, which is a good start, and Stromer looks slightly more chilled out as well, which wasn't technically one of Nick's goals for the evening but he's glad to call that a bonus. Shane looks much the same as always, laid back and unruffled, and he exchanges a 'good work' glance with Nick, which is hilarious, really, because Shane was basically in Beau's position, like, a year ago. He's seemed like a vet since he got traded to the Island, though, and Nick has trouble remembering sometimes that it's only his second season.

But as successful as dinner was, Nick's got one more item on his to do list, and it's going to be the least comfortable one. He's not looking forward to it, but it's also not going to get any easier if he puts it off, so. Ripping the band-aid off it is.

"Well, I'm gonna head home."

He pauses for a second, car keys in hand, as if the thought's just occurred to him. "You want a ride, Beau? You're pretty much on the way."

"Sure, that'd be great," Beau agrees. "Thanks, Leds."

"No problem," Nick says. "Stromer, you good?"

"Yeah, we drove," Ryan says with a shrug, and Shane makes a vague gesture with his hand to make sure Nick realizes he's the other half of that 'we', not that there was exactly anyone else around to qualify.

"Cool," Nick says. "Later, guys."

Beau's quiet as they walk back to Nick's car, and he settles into the passenger seat in silence, too. Nick can't tell if it's his natural reserve, or if he's just digesting. Maybe literally, even.

"You're looking good on Johnny's wing," Nick says, pulling out into traffic, keeping his voice light. He doesn't want to look away from the road for long, but he can see the immediate reaction to his words in his peripheral vision, the involuntary grin that spreads over Beau's face.

"Thank you," he says softly, taking the compliment and not deflecting. Nick can work with this.

"It's good to see," Nick says. "Don't overthink it and listen to what the coaches are saying and you'll be just fine."

It's convenient for Nick that he believes all of that whole-heartedly, too. Unless he has one hell of a slump he can't see Anthony winding up in Bridgeport this season. Not unless Garth really goes wild at the trade deadline, anyhow.

"I will," Beau says, seriously, although he's still wearing a tiny smile at Nick's compliment, even though he's heard more effusive things from half the team by now. Nick kind of hates to say what he has to next, but… he knows he'll be kinder about it than others might be.

"Just, uh, don't read too much into JT on the ice," Nick says. That's probably too vague, he really should have practiced this conversation before trying to have it, but he'd sort of hoped if he just charged ahead he'd see the play unfold before him and could wing it.

Not so much.

"Sorry? I'm not sure I know what you mean." Beau had turned his full attention onto Nick by then, and he fidgets a little, his hands twisting together in his lap. He gives Nick a self-deprecating shrug that Nick's seen before a few times, the one that means he isn't sure of the English for what he'd heard or wanted to say. Not like Nick has even three percent as much French to offer in return.

Nick keeps his eyes on the road, hands steady on the steering wheel for a couple of seconds while he tries to rephrase.

"He's seeing someone," Nick says. "It doesn't come up much, but, uh. He's taken. Not looking."

Beau blinks for a moment, and the panic crosses his expression so quickly that if Nick hadn't been watching out—hadn't been _expecting_ it—he would have missed it.

"That's nice," Beau says carefully. His whole body is a line of tension, carefully rigid in the passenger seat, not making eye contact with Nick any more even by accident. It makes Nick's back ache in sympathy. "I'm not sure what you…?" He trails off, whether due to lack of vocabulary or lack of desire to continue the conversation, Nick's not sure. It's not like he really wants to ask.

"I don't think anyone else would notice," Nick says gently. "Not unless they knew to look, so I just. I wanted to remind you to be careful."

"Oh," Beau says, and then, more sharply, "Ah."

Nick bites his lip, and tries to not dwell on the suspicion that Beau has gleaned more information from this conversation than Nick had intended to give him. It's probably only fair, really, but it still makes Nick feel exposed, more vulnerable than he likes to be. Contempt is the least of what familiarity with that sensation has bred.

Nick could argue, could try to defend himself, could lie, but he's been trying not to do that lately. Trying to just let himself be. And it would be a total dick move to do anything else right at this moment, so he reaches over and pats Anthony's shoulder in consolation, a tacit admission.

"I'd say you can talk to me if you need to," Nick says, after they've driven a few more blocks in silence. "But what I probably mean is if you ever need to come over and play video games and maybe have a beer or two while we don't talk about our feelings, well. You've got my number."

"Gotcha," Beau says, and a tiny shiver runs down Nick's spine at that. He's reading too much into this again; his imagination always does get him into trouble. "Thank you, Nick."

Nick shrugs, and with relief sees the hotel where Beau's still staying coming up ahead of them, the inevitable punctuation to end this awkward conversation.

"Well, here you go," Nick says, pulling into the front and parking.

He looks over at Beau as he unfastens his seatbelt and starts to get out of the car. "See you at practice," Nick adds.

"Later," Beau says, unfolding himself from the passenger seat. At least he's normal-sized enough that it's not the production that trying to get anyone like Scotty or Anders out can be, but then he pauses with his hand on the door before closing it and repeats, his voice serious for all that he's softly spoken. "Really, thank you. Not just for dinner."

Nick gives him an awkward wave, half salute, and mumbles, "It's fine, bye," before Beau vanishes indoors.

Well, Nick thinks fatalistically. That could have gone worse, so. Points to him, he's done the smart, responsible thing.

He just wishes it felt more like he had.

* * *

Nick would say nothing changes after that, but that's not strictly true.

He doesn't catch Beau looking speculatively at JT any more, that's something. But he catches a couple of looks himself, the kind that just makes Nick surer that Beau guessed exactly why Nick knew what he was seeing. He knows what he should do is to figure out a way to gently turn down even that much interest, redirect him to someone more appropriate, but Nick can't quite bring himself to do that.

He's not proud of the fact he's a little flattered, that Beau's clear and specific interest makes him feel warmer, makes him self-conscious of what he does and says when they're all out as a team. Beau winds up sitting next to him more often than not, ducking his chin, looking up at Nick through his lashes, flirting in the gentlest and most subtle way possible. Nick's not sure anyone but him would even notice; it's not like Beau says a lot to anyone, really. He's quiet, whether that's due to being around fewer French speakers or what, and he's a good rookie; listens to what he's told and does his best to follow through.

And besides, Nick's going to say no if anything ever really happens, he absolutely is.

But until and unless that happens, well. Where's the harm?

* * *

The harm, apparently, is that Nick is not remotely as good at self-control as he'd like to think he is.

He keeps it together for a couple months, as the Isles slip further and further down the standings, winning one, losing two, until they're starting to look right down the barrel of missing the playoffs. Until they get their coach fired, and then like nothing else seemed to, that seems to light a fire under all of them, with things starting to click the way they should have all season.

Nick's picking up points about as well as he ever has, so the season's going okay from a personal point of view, and he feels like he's mostly playing well, but it's hard to enjoy that when the team is barely scraping by, clawing their way back from the bottom of the conference. He's just starting to really believe they can pull it off when they get in to Montreal, and shut out the Habs in their own barn.

It's a really good night; Nick gets an assist on Beau's game-winner, and the media is wild even by Montreal standards, crowding around their local boy and keeping him talking right up until someone has to yell that they need to be on the bus. After a night like that—quieting the Forum crowd, their rookie getting first star honors and the shut-out for Greisser—there's no way they're not going out.

They keep it pretty tame, just drinks and a lot of guys half-yelling because they can't tell how loud they're being, muffled by exertion and alcohol, but Nick's drunker than he's been during the season for a while. Drunk enough that when Beau's hand falls onto his thigh an hour or so later he… doesn't move away.

It's three wins in a row, and points in more games than not recently, so Nick's ready to celebrate. They've got a day off before they're in Columbus, and there's still a good two weeks on the road after that, so. Nick's ready to blow off some steam, that's for sure.

As good a win as it was, none of them are really going to push it with curfew, and Nick's part of a large group who make their way back to the hotel a little earlier than they quite need to, but he's figuring he'll wind down some more in his own room, maybe watch some TV, something like that.

He's doing his best not to notice Beau quietly at his side, like the world's most persistent forechecker, his cheeks flushed with the cold and the booze, eyes bright. He answers a few of the other guys when they talk, but mostly he's not saying much, his shoulder brushing Nick's as they walk three abreast down the sidewalk.

Nick can feel the warmth of that kindling in his stomach, temptation curling through him. Beau doesn't have to be much more overt than this, not for Nick to know exactly what he's dangling. What he's angling for.

And God, Nick would love to take him up on that.

"Make sure you drink some water before bed," Hickey reminds Beau, pausing with his keycard in his own door.

Nick hides a snort, it's not like anyone gets through junior hockey without knowing how to take care of a hangover or better yet, avoid getting one in the first place. He thinks Beau will be just fine for their flight tomorrow.

"Of course," Beau says easily, fidgeting with his own keycard. He's sharing with Pelly, the two of them the only guys up on their ELCs, but Pelly's still out with the rest of the guys. It's—an opportunity. It's a _problem_ , the more sensible part of Nick's brain can realize, but it's also an opportunity.

He's almost not surprised when Beau turns to him after that and says, "Actually, I don't think I have any Tylenol or whatever. You got anything, Leds?"

It's so smoothly done that Nick almost can't believe he'd thought he had to say something to him earlier in the year. Nick didn't get this practiced at talking his way into guys’ rooms until, well. Maybe never. Subtle's never been Nick's style, really.

"Yeah," he says, almost surprising himself by how easily he goes along with it.

And who knows.

Maybe Beau does want something for tomorrow just in case.

* * *

Nick holds the door to his room open for Beau to precede him in, and makes sure it shuts all the way behind him before he says or does anything.

He does actually duck into the bathroom to dig a couple of pills out of his shaving kit just in case, too.

Beau's just sitting on the end of the bed when he comes out again, looking at Nick, not at the blank screen of the TV or out the curtains Nick hadn't remembered to shut before heading out earlier.

"Great game tonight," Nick says, for the second or third time, he's not quite sure. "I bet your folks are proud. They were there, yeah?"

"Yeah," Beau says softly, and the smile he can't hide at that thought lights up his whole face.

Nick sits on the bed opposite his, his body angled towards Beau, but not boxing him in at all. No pressure. Nick's still not sure how far he's going to let this go, if it goes anywhere, but whatever happens, well. He'll know he didn't start it. Even if he might have wanted to.

"So," Nick says, words trailing off. "I was gonna, uh, catch up on some TV."

"Leds," Beau complains, "You know that's not—"

Nick raises an eyebrow.

Rather than arguing, Beau gets up and pointedly moves to the other bed, sitting down right next to Nick. Maybe an inch between them. Nick can feel how incredibly small that distance is like it's tap-dancing on his nerves, everything on alert, till it feels like his hair's standing on end just at the sheer proximity. Beau is a lot more distracting up close, more than Nick had maybe wanted to admit to himself without the plausible deniability of a few more beers than normal.

The remote is lying on the bed right next to Nick's hand, he could just reach over, pick it up, and flip to the Food Network, or go through whatever shitty cable the hotel has available to see if there's anything he watches on.

He doesn't.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Nick asks, eventually, as the silence stretches out too long, awkwardness prickling in around the edges.

"Yes," Beau says impatiently, and he shifts position, one leg curled under him while he keeps the other on the floor for balance, face to face with Nick in a way he can't avoid.

Nick looks at him for a couple of beats, not sure if he's really going to go down this road again, but before he can come to any sort of stunning conclusion—or drag the whole thing out even longer, which he suspects is more likely what would've happened—Beau makes a singularly impatient noise and leans in, pressing his mouth to Nick's.

It's a little awkward, unpracticed. Their teeth clash, and Nick can feel the scrape against his own cheek of where Beau must have missed a spot shaving earlier, but all of that is easily remedied, and then before he's quite prepared for it, Nick's opening his mouth to Beau; lips soft, tongue demanding, breath catching in his lungs.

It's a shockingly good kiss, after they settle into it, and Nick hopes he doesn't taste too much like beer. He got a hint of the sweetness of the last shot someone had fed Beau right as their lips met, but that was gone fast. Now all he's getting is warmth and wetness and the satisfaction of Beau doing his best to climb right into Nick's lap without breaking the kiss.

He winds up flat on his back, Beau an incredibly welcome weight sprawled over his chest and thighs, squirming just enough as they keep kissing for Nick's dick to decide that it's also very on board with this turn of affairs.

Beau shifts around enough to get a hand under Nick's shirt, running over his abs, up towards his pecs, short nails dragging over his chest hair. His fingertips had pushed down for a hot second, just underneath Nick's waistband before he seemed to think twice and redirect that touch. Nick notes it, swallows down the momentary sense of disappointment. He doesn't want to push Beau into doing anything he's not comfortable with, so this is good, really. It's good that Beau doesn't seem to feel pressured for more, it's about the only thing that's persuading Nick he's not the worst person in the world for going along with this.

Impatiently, Beau makes a fist in Nick's shirt and tugs it out of his pants entirely, pushing the fabric up so it bunches under his arms, and he makes a satisfied noise as he gets both hands on Nick's bare skin, his weight shifting alarmingly as he tries to resettle, knees sliding a little on the bedspread.

Nick gets his hands onto Beau's hips just to steady him, and then leaves one there—his thumb brushing bare skin just where his pants are slipping down, because of course Beau managed to ditch his belt at some point and his suit pants don't entirely fit right. Nick's gonna have to take him shopping at some point, because he's not exactly stuck with off the rack any more, not if he doesn't want to be. Nick had taken a while to wrap his own mind around that point, he remembers. So yeah, he can do that. Later. That's being a good teammate.

His other hand curling back to get a healthy handful of Beau's ass is, well. Probably less on the good teammate side.

Although the way that Beau makes a rough, pleased groan right against Nick's lips is good. He's making Beau feel good, and that's making Nick feel good too.

Beau lets his weight settle right back on top of Nick again, pushes his tongue into Nick's mouth, squirms under Nick's hands.

It takes a few seconds for Nick to realize why that is; at first he thinks Beau's just trying to get his balance again, and then he catches the rhythm of it, lets his hands tighten on Beau's skin, letting him work his hips, grinding against Nick.

"Been a while, huh?" Nick jokes, grinning to show he doesn't mean it. It's not like he's gotten laid any time recently himself either, he's not throwing stones.

"Uh, maybe," Beau says, giving him that same smile that Nick's caught in the locker room and out on the ice; shy and more than little delighted, more than a little guarded all the same.

It's not quite as bad for Nick's equilibrium as the way Beau beams when he's really happy, when he forgets to mind the people watching him or doesn't let it affect him anymore, but it still rockets right through him, makes his stomach flip. Nick likes making Beau smile, and it turns out it feels just as good when Beau's smiling right against his mouth.

"It's okay," Nick says softly, after they've kissed for a little longer, his pulse racing, breath coming just a shade too quick. "You can just—this is good, yeah? Doesn't have to be anything more than this."

He's meaning, mostly, that it's fine with him if Beau just wants to rub off on him. Nick'll enjoy that, and if Beau bails on him, well, Nick's got two hands, he can take care of himself. And if he doesn't take off right after, well. That's good, too. But mostly Nick just wants to make this as easy as he can, low-stress, low maintenance, nothing that's going to freak Beau out. Nick can do casual, that's fine. And if it's a one-off, well. At least they'll both be getting something out of it, and it wouldn't be the first time Nick's gotten off with a teammate and not really talked about it later.

That's usually worked out fine for him. Not letting himself want more than that is the trick, really. And he thinks he's still doing an okay job of not letting himself start overthinking this or building it into anything it's not.

It's just two guys who have something in common getting to… have something else in common.

It's really not a big deal.

Nick spends more effort than he quite wants to admit making sure he can see Beau's face as he comes, though. He's not missing that if it's all he gets.

Beau's a good guy, though. Once his breathing slows back down to normal, rather than the shaky gasps warm against the side of Nick's throat, he laughs it off a little, but he doesn't take off or even go clean up, neither of which would have entirely surprised Nick. No, instead he sits up and catches Nick's eye, says, diffidently, "Uh, can I…?" and lets his hand trail down the middle of Nick's chest and over his stomach to land on Nick's zipper.

The offer is not exactly opaque.

Nick's not made of stone, even if by this point he's hard enough that it kinda feels like it. He'd like to think he manages to sound even marginally cool as he says, "Uh, yeah, if you want," in response, like it doesn't really matter to him one way or another, but he's pretty sure that cat's out of the bag given the way he can't swallow the moan as Beau unzips him and gets a hand into his pants. Beau's careful as he frees Nick's cock from the tangle of pants and underwear, stretched out too tight over his erection, and Nick sighs with relief, makes a much louder noise as Beau casually spits into his own hand and then wraps it tight around Nick.

Nick's got actual lube in his bag somewhere; that's usually a probable, and on a road trip it's a definite, not that Beau has any reason to know that, and Nick doesn't want to interrupt things long enough to retrieve it. This is more than good enough anyway, just enough to let Beau's fingers move easily over Nick's skin for a few strokes, right up until he rubs his thumb over the head and that comes away even wetter, eases the slide of his hand again. Nick's leaking pretty good by then, turned on enough that he's given up on focusing on much more than getting off, on making it good enough that he won't regret it, maybe even good enough that Beau'll want to do it again. Nick would've blown him if he'd been sure enough that the offer would get a yes rather than the door closing behind him.

Maybe Nick can blow him later, they've probably got time.

Nick can't actually see the clock from where he's laying, and he knows full well that's probably a lie; they don't even really have the time to be doing this, but their bus call isn't that early, and it's not like they're not both already _in their hotel rooms_ , they're just—

Not watching TV.

Nick realizes, abruptly, that he never did put the TV on, and he maybe should have, because he has no idea who's rooming next to him, if anyone is, but god only knows what noise he's been making. Beau wasn't exactly quiet as he came either, and maybe it's a good thing they're not fucking, exactly, because Nick's seen enough guys get shit the morning after for the amount their headboard was knocking on the wall.

Because the universe has a sense of humor, that's when Beau does something else with his hand and Nick stops worrying about his teammates and whether his sex noises are too loud or embarrassing, stops hoping he didn't actually say Beau's name at any point and just shakes apart underneath him, groaning appreciatively as the orgasm races through him.

Fuck, he needs to get out more if he feels like this after just a handjob.

Mostly he just wants to roll over and go to sleep, already, but he gives in to the urge to pull Beau back down for one more kiss, sloppy and enthusiastic and probably more obvious than necessary, but Nick'll cut himself a break in the whole thinking sensibly right after getting off stakes.  
That carries on for a while, enough that he can feel Beau's dick stirring again, can feel that he's ready to go again almost ridiculously fast.

"Hey, can I…?" Nick asks, almost diffidently, thumb and forefinger frozen on the button at the top of Beau's pants—fuck, he'd gotten him off like this and hadn't even touched him properly yet, Nick is judging himself just a little for that.

"Uh, yeah," Beau says, all in a rush. He lifts his hips enough to make it easier for Nick to undress him, shoving his pants down as far as his knees at least, and it's the easiest thing in the world for Nick to crawl down the bed and get his mouth on Beau's dick. It's sloppy and it's definitely messy, and Nick knows he's not going to get the taste out of his mouth even after brushing his teeth, but it's worth it for how Beau bites the back of his hand to muffle the noises he can't help making, and Nick gets him off in what might be record time. It feels like it's over fast, and Nick can't help himself, goes right back to kissing him again afterward, and appreciates the fact Beau doesn't even blink.

Beau's the one who pulls away in the end this time, with a flattering amount of reluctance, and mumbles, "I should, um. Pelly'll be wondering where I am."

"Right," Nick says, and he finally lets go of him, sits up when Beau rolls off him and wordlessly starts helping him pull his own clothes back into some semblance of order, looking him over critically to make sure he doesn't have any marks or any hard-to-explain stains visible. His hair's kind of wild, but it's nothing that Nick would look at and unequivocably think 'sex hair' about, so he'll probably pass.

"…thanks," Beau says quietly, one hand on the door, and Nick swallows back the first few responses that come to him. It's just sex, Beau doesn't need him complicating this any more than it already is.

"Goodnight," Nick says softly, after a moment, discarding anything more specific. "Good game tonight, eh?"

"Yeah, you too," Beau says, not making eye contact, and then he steps out into the hall and pulls the door closed behind him.

The click as the latch falls back into place seems to echo in Nick's suddenly silent room, and he slouches down on the bed, stretches out and—after a moment's thought—kicks his pants the rest of the way off. He'd tucked himself back in when Beau straightened up and wiped his hand off on the sheet beside them, but Nick's going to have to toss them straight into his laundry bag anyway, and leave a decent tip for the hotel staff.

That had been good, and Nick's feeling warm and satisfied after getting off, can't shake that even with the vague sense of disquiet and the worry that he's made a mistake, and, well.

It really had been good.

Nick manages to motivate himself enough to get up and clean up a few minutes later, but it's half-hearted at best and he knows it. Instead, he just promises himself that he'll shower again first thing in the morning and crawls back into bed, rolling over to sleep and closing his eyes. Ignoring the way the room smells like sex and sweat and come, and that Nick really wouldn't have minded going for round two.

Who knows. Maybe he'll get a chance to revisit this later.

It's not like they're not going to be on the road for a fucking age longer, anyway.

* * *

Nick doesn't really get a moment alone with Beau the next day. He doesn't oversleep, exactly, but he's not exactly the first to breakfast either, and he's got just enough time to clean up and clear his room out properly before breakfast and a team meeting. After that they're on the charter to Columbus anyway, and Nick gets roped into card games up the front of the plane with a few of the older guys, gets fleeced by Ladd for at least one hand more than he should have just because he's too distracted to pick when to fold.

The Jackets are coming off their bye week, and Nick hopes, a little guiltily, that that'll help the Isles against them, given how poorly it seems like everyone's played after theirs. And the Isles are putting a nice streak of their own together, sure, but they're going to need to just about run the table to make the playoffs, so. It's a good opportunity for his team, anyhow.

He's had dinner plans for that night practically since they got the schedule, messaged Saader to find out if he knew whether he'd be around or not.

Saader had texted back with an 'of course', and suggested a restaurant, and Nick had relaxed, just a little, pleased that this was still so easy.

It had been kind of difficult when Saader first got traded into the division, and given the season the Jackets had had last year—even if Brandon had played well himself—well, Nick couldn't blame him for being prickly. That hadn't stopped them getting dinner or lunch or even just fifteen minutes in an arena hallway to catch up if they couldn't do anything else.

Nick was glad to get to see him whenever, just the same as he was any time the Habs were in town, or whenever Smitty was up with the Leafs. He'd incorporated Matty into those Toronto plans this year, too. It's only been two years in New York, but Nick's felt like he fits with the Isles basically since he got there, and it didn't make it any easier to have those friends get traded or sign with other teams than it had been in Chicago. He loves his team, and he's pretty tight with more than a few of the guys in New York now, which is great, but he does appreciate being able to see the friends he's had since the A.

It's easy to relax around Saader, anyway. He's much the same as he's been since Nick's known him—since he was drafted, and fuck it's trippy to think about how long ago that was, now. He's watched Saader grow up, although they didn't exactly saddle him with that Manchild nickname for no reason; he's always been more mature than his age implies. Saader's quiet, and warm, and Nick knows that when he asks how he's doing he actually means it.

Instead of giving a rote 'fine', Nick stops to think how to answer that, because Saader's also one of the people he wants to be honest with more often than not. He pretty much is fine, though; there's not a lot going on in his life other than hockey, and he definitely doesn't need to give anyone a play-by-play on his not-entirely-thought-through-as-it-happens hookup with one of the rookies.

"Not bad," Nick allows after a moment's thought. "At least we're doing better than the last time we saw you."

"You won that one," Brandon points out, pretending to pout over it, but Nick knows he doesn't mean anything by it. Brandon's competitive as fuck, sure, but he's at least better about keeping that under control off the ice than a lot of other guys Nick's known. It makes him a much more relaxing person to be around, and considering how many of Nick's other good friends are loud, and tend to fall into the general category of what his mom would label 'shit disturbers', well. It's a good contrast.

"Anyway," Brandon says, "we'll get our revenge tomorrow, so. How's Zula?"

Nick takes the subject change gratefully; he'll take talking about his dogs any day over the underperformance of his team, and so he tells Brandon about the shoot they'd done with the Humane Society and how like half the guys had wound up adopting the dogs they'd taken pictures with, which had been only one of the reasons Nick had asked if he could just bring Zula in. It wasn't his first rodeo in that regard. Although Cal's puppy was ridiculously cute.

It's a pleasant way to spend the evening, anyhow, and Nick's in a good mood by the time he gets back to his hotel room and goes to bed.

* * *

The optimistic mood Nick had woken up in lasted till somewhere around the middle of the second period the next day, at which point it had switched to grim determination to get out of Ohio having accomplished _something_ at least.

Unfortunately most of what he'd accomplished personally was what he had a feeling was going to be the highlight reel example of the most egregious turnover anyone could possibly commit on a breakout. Maybe ever. _Fuck_. He feels like he's going to be seeing Anderson heading towards the net with the puck in his nightmares for a week.

The locker room afterward is dead silent, no one saying anything more than they have to. Nick tries to tell himself that it wasn't his fault alone, they'd all sucked out there, but it's hard not to feel like that was the moment when the wheels came off, where they fell apart entirely and couldn't get it together again.

None of them are really making eye-contact at first, and Nick feels a stirring of real concern at that; they'd lost, and badly, but—they'd been winning, mostly, up until then. There’s no way they should be getting this low over it.

But he can't deny the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach at the loss, or the fact they all seem to be feeling it, and going by the way everyone looks at breakfast the next day, Nick isn't the only one who hadn't slept particularly well, either.

Nick probably could have tried to catch Beau's eye afterward, on their way back to the hotel, give them both a chance to wipe out how shitty a night it had been, but he hadn't really been in the mood, and pretending otherwise would have felt wrong.

At least they have a few days off in the middle of the road trip, enough time to go home to their own beds for two nights before heading west again. Nick takes the opportunity to catch up on a few errands he's been letting slide for too long, falls asleep on the couch in the afternoon with Zula happily sprawling out beside him, pleased to see him even if he doesn't take her for walks as long as the ones his sitter does.

He looks at Beau's number in his phone and considers texting him an invitation; to what, Nick's not entirely sure, but in the end, he doesn't. He doesn't want to push it, doesn't want to pressure him. If something else happens they can talk about it then, and if not, well, Nick got some good memories out of it, and Beau's seemed easier around him since if nothing else. And he has to know that if he needs to talk to someone, well, Nick's there.

It's gonna be fine.

And then they get to the airport to fly out to Dallas, and Nick finds his usual seat, a few rows from the back, just behind where the rookies and younger guys tend to group up. He thinks about changing his routine—maybe that'll help?—and just sitting with them instead of leaning forward to talk through the seats occasionally, but they're all absorbed in some kind of complicated card game that Pelly swears all the Bridgeport guys play.

Beau's losing, by the sounds of it, but he doesn't seem to mind, talking quietly to Ho-Sang right beside him, laughing a lot. Nick knows that laugh, can picture the beaming grin that goes with it, and he feels a flutter of envy that he squashes ruthlessly. If they're all taking Josh's mind off the fact he's going to be playing his first NHL game tomorrow—and with all the circus that goes with that—then that's all for the best, and Nick should be helping, not vaguely wishing he was at the other end of the plane chirping Boych for his taste in movies or something similarly boring.

They get back in the win column in Dallas, and Nick thinks they've been able to shake off that loss in Columbus after all, lets himself relax a little again. The mood in the locker room has picked up again, and just like the other guys, Nick's happy to play with Josh, likes how fast he seems to have accustomed himself to NHL speed and NHL positioning.

He's fun to play with, too; Nick finds himself out on the ice with him a lot, whether he's with JT or any of the other guys. He seems to find good chemistry with Beau, too, on and off the ice, and Nick gets used to seeing the two of them out there whenever the coaches think they need some zip, gets used to crashing into goal celebrations with the two of them what feels like every other game down the stretch, scratching and clawing to get further up the standings.

It's a sprint and not a marathon now, and it seems like every time they make up some ground so does every other team in the east, and while Nick has every confidence in their team—he has to, can't let himself think of it any other way—he knows it's going to come right down to the wire. 

Like he half-suspected, he hasn't wound up alone with Beau again since the night they hooked up. Partly that's a function of getting down to the end of the season, when everyone's tired and mostly focused on eating and sleeping to the exclusion of almost everything else. Mostly the sleeping. But partly it's a function of how every time Nick looks over at Beau, he's leaning into Josh, their heads together, talking quietly or laughing loudly. And, like. Nick's been around the block enough times to know what two guys who're maybe closer than just friends looks like. He's been that guy more than once, it would be ridiculous if he didn't recognize it. And he's pretty sure that even if nothing's happened yet, well. Something might.

The funny thing is, this time Nick doesn't think anyone else would notice. Beau fits in with the rest of the team easily now, gets chirped like he's been around for longer than the year they've had so far, and Josh is fitting in fast too, the rest of the team closing ranks around him, fiercely defensive as he catches bullshit from the media and fans in other cities and has to just take it with a smile. It's closer to a grimace sometimes, not that Nick can fucking blame him for that. He makes a point of talking him up when he's talking to Chris and Greg between periods, and he's heard a few of the other guys doing similar, too.

But for all that their connection is obvious on ice, the way they're starting to be almost as attached at the hip as Nick used to be with Matty, well. That's only getting them a little chirping, but nothing outrageous, nothing noticeable.

And that, Nick thinks belatedly, shifting in his seat on the plane, fiddling with the playlist on his phone but unable to actually make himself fall asleep, is a point against his theory, actually. Because for all that him and Matt are still close, have been good friends for years now, it's not like Nick was ever sleeping with him. So maybe Nick's just overthinking all of this, because he's got nothing else to worry about other than how they're still, frustratingly, just outside the wild card, than the fact they've been running just to stand still ever since they started chasing the standings. Wondering about shit that really isn't any of his business isn't going to help him, and it's not going to help the team, and maybe he needs a new hobby or something, fuck. Nick fidgets some more, and then gets up to go beg a magazine off Hammer, on the grounds that maybe reading will shut his brain up long enough for him to either get a nap in or find something else to obsess about.

He's only marginally successful, really.

And the whole time, he can't quite stop himself from noticing Beau sitting a few rows up, sharing headphones and watching something on his iPad with Josh, the two of them looking completely relaxed.

* * *

The last few weeks of games feel slightly unreal even while Nick's living through them, constantly just a little off-balance. It doesn't help that they're hardly at home, on the road for shorter and longer trips only occasionally broken up by a return to Barclays. It stings down deep that they haven't won at home since February, loss after loss piling up in front of their own fans, for all that they seem to get it together okay on the road. It's grating and it's wearing them all down, no matter how brave a face they put on it for the media. No matter how much they say they have to be better, how determined they are to back that up…the points keep slipping away.

Nick's felt this before a couple times, not so much with the Isles, actually, which is maybe making it harder for him now, but it's not unfamiliar. And he knows the only way out is through it, and so do the rest of the guys who've been doing this for a while now, but it's sitting heavily on the newer guys.

Nick's not the only one who notices that; without actually planning it as such, guys like Ladder and Chimmer speak up in the locker room and on the plane, and they have a few low-key team outings when they are on the road, dinners and a few lunches, the odd video game tournament when they get enough days off in a row that any of them can actually muster the enthusiasm to spend some of their rare leisure time together again.

The card games on their charters get a little more bloodthirsty as a way of working off steam, and Nick's not dumb enough to get in too deep there; he cashes out early and just sticks around to chirp the other guys who're still in, teams up with Brock and Stromer to give Anders a hard time about how terrible his bluffing skills are. They're all over-competitive about it, but no one would guess just how many times they've done Casino Night fundraisers given how bad at poker half the guys are. Nick volunteers that comment, safely behind Boych's shoulder, but he still gets a few sugar packets flicked his way in response.

Coming back from Pittsburgh at least everyone's in a good mood, because beating the Pens is always satisfying, and however short-lived it is, they're in the wild card spot again at last, clinging on tooth and nail but right in there. Nick's not really feeling the urge to play cards or to watch the guys who are, and it's not like anyone's going to be going out when they get back to New York, not with the Bruins waiting in Brooklyn for them.

Almost without consciously intending to, he finds himself drifting back to the back of the plane, where Scotty and Pelly are hanging out, quietly talking. Josh and Beau are in the row in front of them, occasionally turning to join in the conversation; Nick comes up in time to gather it's about some TV show they all watch, or maybe a movie. It's more interesting than whatever Quiner and Zeeker were talking about at least, so Nick just settles down across the aisle and adds a comment or two when he can.

* * *

Breaking a three game losing streak would usually be something to celebrate, or at least heave a sigh of relief over, but all Nick can manage when they beat the Devils is a hollow laugh, because, okay, they finally won at home in March, but fuck did they ever take long enough to do it. And now they've only got five games left in the season, four on the road, and they're going to have to run the table, no other choice. And even then, it might not be enough.

He's not sure, afterward, if it makes it better or worse that they do. Their fate was in their own hands, sure, and obviously they needed to have picked up more wins earlier, there's no getting around _that_ , but it sucks to be stuck watching other teams play, knowing they need them to win as well to have the slightest hope of making it.

There's still a chance as they beat the Devils in their own barn, but they're going to have to wait to hear how the other game goes to know if they're playing for the playoffs tomorrow, or just for pride. Nick's slower than usual in dressing, reluctant to go home, reluctant to actually leave the room. It feels like if he sticks around there longer, surrounded by teammates and all their gear, the normal sights and sounds and smells of the locker room, then their season will keep going, like he can somehow drag their destiny back on track by sheer will alone.

He knows well enough that that's an illusion, ephemeral as smoke, but he can't quite fight the urge, so he takes his time, laces his shoes up slowly, doesn't hurry over buttoning his shirt. The media have been through, their questions only a little about the game they just played, focusing as ever on the potential future, the difficulties they've played through this year, the broken record drone of questions about the ice at Barclays and their tenure there, about coaching, how it was that Dougie turned them around when they couldn't do it for Cappy. Nick doesn't have a whole lot of answers, and luckily he's not the one being looked at for most of those questions. They're playing their hearts out, pride and guts and sheer dogged vicious determination, that's about all he can say.

It's too easy to let his eyes rest on the other side of the room, watching Josh talk to Johnny, his shoulders loose, movements easy, wearing that same grin that Nick's gotten used to seeing in the last month or so.

Beau brushes past them on his way back into the room, lagging behind everyone else even more than Nick has been today, and his fingertips glance over Josh's hip as he does. That's something that Nick should absolutely not be noticing, a little taste of something that's not for other people to see. It's none of Nick's business, and he shouldn't have to keep reminding himself of that fact.

He does up the last button on his suit jacket and tugs at the hem so it sits properly, looking down to watch his own hands move as he does, but that only lasts a couple of seconds before his gaze is inevitably wandering again, landing back on Josh like it's magnetically attracted.

Josh is still grinning, almost manically cheerful, riding the high of the game and their win streak and the adrenaline of being still in the running, still, just barely, but enough, and it looks good on him. Nick hopes that whatever happens they'll all get to see that grin a lot more next year, or hell, even next week. It's hard to see it and not respond, and it's not like he can't see what Beau must see in him—or what he must see in Beau, for that matter—but the two of them seem to be doing a good job of keeping whatever is going on quiet. Nick's not sure he would've noticed either, if he didn't know what it looks like when Beau's interested.

If he didn't know what it looks like when Beau's getting exactly what he wants.

And, well, more power to them, Nick thinks, only letting himself be a little uncomfortable with the thought. They're having fun, and they seem to be good for each other, and as long as they keep putting the puck in the net as well everyone'll be happy.

And that's when Josh finishes up the conversation he'd been having with Chimmer and JT and looks up just in time to catch Nick half-staring at him.

He raises an ironic eyebrow and cocks his head to one side, silently and unmistakably asking Nick what's up, and Nick feels his face go hot, hopes the flush isn't as obvious as he fears it is, and looks away fast. So, that was… awkward. He really needs to get over himself and just—go home, already. The great thing about playing in Jersey is it almost feels like a home game, just more traffic and a lot more of the wrong-color jerseys in the stands. He can go home and see his dog and leave the TV off and his phone on the charger, ignore the standings for a couple hours, just for a break. They'll know, one way or another, before the game tomorrow.

"Hey," Beau says, from just a few feet away, and Nick startles, blinks, and then tells himself firmly to get a grip, jeez.

"Hey," he replies cautiously. He hadn't seen Beau move, and actually the locker room is clearing out pretty quickly around them now, only a few guys still dragging their heels.

"You wanna get food?" Beau asks, blunt in the way he is when he's not entirely sure of himself, when he doesn't want to give away his nerves by speaking too long or too loud.

Nick blinks again, and looks over at Josh, who's moving to stand beside Beau, wearing a carefully neutral expression that sits as uneasily on his face as it does with the butterflies taking up new residence in Nick's stomach. He feels…cornered, all of a sudden, and that's absolutely a new experience. He hasn't felt this unsure of himself since he was a rookie himself, too much in Chicago to really fit in up in Rockford, and too much of a rookie to feel certain of himself around the veterans up on the big team.

"Didn't really feel like just sitting around the hotel waiting," Beau says, with a shrug. Josh seems to be letting him take point on this conversation, just nodding his agreement and, well, Nick can sympathize. He doesn't particularly want to do that either.

"I guess you guys are on my way," Nick says. And company would definitely be nice. "You guys looking for someone who won't get carded, huh?" he jokes, because, well, he wouldn't blame them. Nick doesn't even remember the last time anyone asked him for ID; the beard is good for that, among other things.

"Hey, I'm 21 now," Josh protests, with enough of a curl to the edges of his grin that Nick can see he's putting on the offense, that he's amused more than anything else.

Nick hadn't actually remembered that, and it must be a new-minted twenty-one, sitting lightly on him so far, if he's still that enthusiastic about being able to buy beer in the States, whether he wants to or not. Nick remembers that feeling, and momentarily feels a hundred years older. He wonders if he makes Boych feel like this sometimes. It's easy to forget just how many of the Isles are older than him; it feels like Nick's playing with half his draft class these days, enough in common and enough common history that they can all understand each other, that they have the same references, the same touch-stones, the same memories of the hockey they'd watched growing up, the players they'd emulated and wanted to be and sometimes actually gotten to play with.

Every now and then Nick'll catch video of guys at the combine talking, nervous-quick and faux-confident, about watching guys he thinks of as his peers while they were growing up, and that throws him every time. It does and doesn't feel like this is his seventh season already; it's gone by so quickly.

And he can't imagine what it's going to be like if they don't make the playoffs.

Sure, Nick's been bounced in the first round a few times now, and that fucking sucks, especially after knowing exactly how it feels to make it, but… he's never started his summer in early April. And he doesn't want to start now.

And there's not a damn thing he can do about that right now, so. Time to go grab a late dinner with the guys. It'll have to do.

* * *

By the time they get to Barclays the next day it's a done deal. _They're_ done, and they all know it, looking ahead to a long summer, with every uncertainty magnified by the changes that'll doubtless happen through it. So all they've got to play for is pride, but as Nick looks around the room, he's pretty sure they'll still be doing that.

His gaze catches for a moment when he see Beau, changing out of his suit, dark smudges at his hip, and Nick doesn't remember seeing those yesterday—not that he was looking of course, but he would have noticed, he thinks—and they're not really a place you get bruises from hockey, not unless you're incredibly unlucky in blocking a shot.

And it's not like Beau doesn't block shots, although that's not exactly a focus in his game, but—

Nick feels the penny drop as his subconscious puts it together and hopes he hasn't blushed obviously. Hopes he managed to look away before anyone caught him staring, because it's obvious, isn't it?

Dinner with Josh and Beau had been fine, felt almost bizarrely normal at the time, and Nick had forgotten his awkwardness around them—either of them, _both_ of them—as they kept up a conversation through dinner, said their good nights and all studiously avoided checking the standings on their phones before heading home to bed.

Nick had looked, when he'd gotten home. He'd cursed, felt his shoulders slump, and then he'd taken another long, hot shower in the hopes of bleeding off some of the frustration and then taken a healthy shot of scotch in the hopes it'd help him relax enough to sleep.

Looked like Josh and Beau had taken another, equally traditional approach to trying to relax and distract themselves: they'd gone home to bed, too. Although not to sleep, or at least not right away.

Nick's jealous for a hot moment, long enough to wish he had that option, but then he makes himself put that away to the back of his mind, too. They've got a job to do, for at least the next three hours or so. He can wallow and mope or whatever he wants to do after that. Until then, they've got a game to win. One more time.

* * *

It's barely a consolation, but at least they win their last game, get to congregate at center ice to raise their sticks and salute the crowd. Nick carefully doesn't let himself wonder just who's going to be there next year when they do this.

It might be something of a hollow victory; the Sens are going to the playoffs, had the opportunity to rest guys and nothing, really, to play for, but it's a victory all the same. Nick's not going to mope about this, not for long. He'll fold up this feeling of futile, frustrated uselessness, of the sheer envy that is watching other teams, other guys get to keep going, and he'll pull it out when he needs the extra push training over summer. When they get back on the ice at training camp. When they're looking down the ice at a two goal deficit, and even if it's only October…

They're going to be better next year, Nick knows that deep in his bones with certainty. And it's only partly because, well, after this, they _have_ to be. But he can feel the phantom itch of silver against his fingertips, a reminder that he's done this before, they can get there, that he knows exactly where he wants to go with this team.

He exchanges a few looks with JT, with Hammer as they come off the ice; sees the weight of the captaincy on John's shoulders and marvels again at how well he carries it; all that extra pressure and expectation. Johnny's a special player; Nick's known that even before they were on the same team, but he didn't get to recognize it completely until after the trade, not until he was face to face with him every day, got an up close look at what he could do on the ice, and, thank fuck, no longer has to worry about trying to _stop_ him doing. 

So it's bittersweet, and it's probably going to leave Nick twisting with sheer envy whenever he decides to actually check up on how the playoffs are going for everyone else, but it's bearable. Just barely.

There's a sense of resignation among their group as they change for the last time, finishing up conversations with beat writers and giving every cliched version of "we need to be better" an early workout. They'll just have locker clear-out day and conversations with the front office to go; no one's trying too hard to get more of a quote than that, not when they know they'll get a chance tomorrow or maybe the day after to talk to all of them one by one. Nick's not looking forward to that, but that's more about his preference to avoid talking to the media if possible than it is anything particularly focused. He'd rather let his performance speak for him, not that that's going to help him all that much this year, either.

Inevitably, Nick looks over to check in with Beau and Josh. They're both doing this for the first time, and while he doesn't know much about how far either of them got with their junior teams, this probably has to feel even more disappointing than crashing out of the Mem Cup or whatever. It's not how anyone imagines finishing their season, especially for the first time. Everyone imagines the fairy tale, the run to the playoffs and through to the Cup. Cleaning out your locker and going back to endless days in the gym before summer even gets started isn't going to make anyone's fantasies.

When he looks over, Nick jumps, startled to find Josh looking right back at him, chin up, eyes locked on him. He wasn't expecting that, and almost turns to see if someone's making weird faces beside him, or trying to break the tension some other way, one last prank to finish up the year. But there's just Brock frowning at a knot in his shoelaces, and Kuly saying something to Jaro, his voice low and not carrying anything more than the tone.

Nick knows the code here, knows he's supposed to look away and pretend nothing happened, but he can't seem to. Has to notice the way that Josh's hiding tension in his body language, and flatters himself that it's because of this and not just the far more obvious reason of the way their whole damn season just ended. Notices the way Beau's fingers curl into the waistband of Josh's pants when he steps past and around him, bending over to get something out of his bag. Nick can see his lips move as he murmurs something, as Josh replies, but still doesn't break Nick's gaze.

There's something challenging in his expression and Nick feels the energy of that prickle along his nerves, making the fine hairs on his arms stand on end, goosebumps for no good reason. It makes him want to hit back, push for a reaction, but that would be so incredibly stupid that he can't even entertain the thought for more than a second.

He does have to look away, though, because the one thing Nick's always, always prided himself on is not being that guy, not being the one who makes it awkward, the one who doesn't know how to act in public. He's been plenty awkward, sure, but never in a way that's stuck out as anything more than being a little out of place, being kind of a nerd. He knows his reputation, and he's fine with that. His teammates seem to be, too, and that's the most important part.

What he's not sure about, then, is what to do with himself for the rest of the day. It's not the sort of end of season where anyone's going to want to do any kind of big get together, nothing major, although John'll probably suggest something after they're done clearing out for the year, before everyone starts looking at flights home and vacations and seeing their family without the constant demands of playing every other day or two.

"Dinner?" Beau asks, suddenly a lot closer to Nick than he'd realized. It sounds like it's not the first time he's asked, either.

Nick almost startles again, but catches himself just in time, manages to at least pretend like he was paying attention and not completely off in his own world.

"Uh, sure," Nick says. If the guys who don't have anything else planned are going out then, sure, he'll tag along. Better than being at his place by himself, bored and cranky. "Where are we heading?"

Beau shrugs at him. "Your place? Kinda sucks trying to have dinner in a hotel room."

Nick blinks. He'd just assumed—

"My place?"

"Great, we'll meet you there," Beau said, the confidence in his tone belied by the touch of nervousness Nick can read in his face, something around his eyes that lets Nick know he's not as assured as he's trying to sound.

"Right," Nick says slowly, before picking up the rest of his stuff and getting ready to leave. He feels like he's been railroaded into something, a little. And— 'we'?

Nick wants to hope that by 'we' he'd meant, like, a bunch of the guys, maybe all the younger guys who spent a lot of time together, who'd been in Bridgeport or bouncing between there and New York for the past little while, but if he's being honest with himself, he knows that he kind of wants it to just be Beau and Josh. And he's pretty sure that's what Beau meant.

And he doesn't know what to make of that.

* * *

Nick gets home in pretty good time—he'd wondered for a moment what he'd do if he got there to find a bunch of his teammates waiting on his doorstep, although at least it's not remotely cold any more—but he beats anyone else who was heading that way, at least.

He goes to change, pauses indecisively in front of the mirror, before deciding that a t-shirt and sweater is plenty dressed up, without making it look like he'd made much of an effort. He's uncomfortably aware of the parallel to when he usually does this kind of thing, and it does occur to him that he's not quite sure when he last went on a date. He's been busy this season, as much as he usually enjoys the anonymity available to him in New York. He does what he can to get his hair to look slightly better—damp from showering after an afternoon of sweating in a helmet isn't exactly a great look—before giving up and making a face at his own reflection. This is kind of dumb and he knows it, and futilely trying to fix his hair like a nervous teenager isn't doing him any favors. At least these days he's got a bit more self control when it comes to the hair gel.

Without knowing exactly who else is going to be there he can't really order food, either; that'll have to wait till they arrive. It takes long enough that he starts second-guessing, wondering if he misunderstood Beau, if they've decided to say the hell with all of this and head into the city and find a club or company there.

Right before Nick can decide that he's a complete idiot and give up, the buzzer for the door goes. Nick puts the freezer meal he'd had in his hands back—he really didn't feel like ordering in if it was just him—and goes to let them in.

'Them' turned out to be just Anthony and Josh, still in their game day suits, a little more rumpled after whatever they'd gotten up to since Nick last saw them at Barclays. He doesn't really want to imagine that in too much detail. Or, more accurately, he wants to imagine that a lot more than is even remotely appropriate.

"We got wine," Josh says, and after a pause, he holds it out. Nick takes the bottle with murmured thanks, but doesn't examine it all that closely. He's not that picky and he doubts they are either. "At least, I got wine, and Beau stood outside on the sidewalk so he wouldn't get carded and kicked out." He grins, broadly, clearly enjoying holding that over Beau, and it has the grooves of a well-worn chirp, a regular back and forth between them.

"So, uh," Nick starts to ask, not sure which one of them to look at. He's really not good at the whole hosting thing, especially without a roommate to share the responsibility and do more of the talking, and especially not when what he's hosting isn't just beer and pizza and maybe some video games. "Were we expecting anyone else?"

Josh gives him an unreadable look, but Beau's still smiling, small and private and just a little wicked. "Nope," he says, and walks past Nick, their shoulders brushing as Beau heads into the kitchen. Nick probably should've offered them something to drink, at least.

"Well, figure out what you want to order," Nick says, and then gestures toward the living room. Beau's been here before but Josh hasn't, so Nick should probably give him the basic tour.

That takes a whole two minutes—Nick mostly just points him towards the guest bathroom, figures he can remember well enough on his own how to get into the kitchen, and then gestures at the couch, feeling a little helplessly stuck for anything else to do. He's watched enough of the Food Network in hotel rooms with various teammates to feel okay about planning to put that on as neutral background noise. Hell, he's even watched a few hours of Chopped with Beau and Josh both, the two of them sprawled half on each other on one bed while he tried not to notice the ease with which they elided each others' personal space.

Josh sits down at one end of the couch and Nick takes the opposite; he knows his lines here, and there's more than enough space for Beau between them. Nick's not going to extend that metaphor, either.

A moment or two later Beau rejoins them, still looking remarkably settled, like his equilibrium is far more settled than Nick’s is, for sure. Nick turns his head to say something—he's not entirely sure what, probably he should check what they're doing for food so he can order already, he could definitely do with food again sometime soon—but the words die unsaid as Beau sits down next to him. _Right_ next to him, practically in Nick's lap, pressed right up against him from hip to knee, his body warm through the thin material of Nick's slacks.

"Uh," Nick says cleverly. "Beau?"

He kind of wants to lean forward, or back, to see what Josh's face is doing, what he thinks of his—whatever they are, Nick hasn't asked, fuck—his boyfriend, whatever, practically sitting in Nick's lap.

"So," Beau says, coolly, like this is academic to him, although that's belied by the fine tremor Nick can see in his hands and feel against his thigh, his knee jiggling just the tiniest bit with nerves. "We wanted to talk to you. You need to be more careful, Nick."

Nick's not dumb, he can hear the echo of his own words from months ago there.

He's still not entirely sure where this is going, either. Or, more truthfully, not sure he wants to let himself believe it's going where he hopes it is.

…and fuck, how dumb is he, imagining that something might happen with two of his teammates, especially after he'd somehow gotten away with what seemed like no fallout for that one-night-only thing with Beau. At least, he'd thought it had been without any real consequences, and now he's bumping face-first into the fact that he couldn't have been more wrong about that.

But surely they can't mean this how it sounds. How it looks.

"C'mon," Josh says, his voice warm and rich and somehow just as laid back as he usually sounds, letting his emphasis bleed into the tone, needling at Nick. "I wanna watch you guys make out, Beau's made some, uh. Promises about how good that is." He has a way of making his point without raising his voice or speaking faster; Nick figures he's probably learned how to do that the hard way, and the reasons for that suck, sure, but he can't deny it's making nerves prickle the whole way down his spine, making his stomach tighten. Turning him on.

Okay, yeah, Nick's not reading this wrong at all. Thank fuck.

And he manages to move a little then, leaning into Beau's warmth, getting a glimpse over his shoulder of Josh watching them. There's an avid, interested look on his face, and the smirk he's wearing is all heat and no jealousy. And that's unbelievably reassuring for Nick, enough that he can let his focus go back on Beau for a minute, seeing the half-smile quirking his lips, his tongue darting out to moisten them. Can see the way his eyes look even bigger than usual, behind his glasses, tiny scraps of reflected light catching the smudges where he hasn't cleaned them recently. Nick's always been kind of into guys in glasses, and Beau definitely looks good in his.

"It's seriously okay?" he asks, compelled to check. It's not like they couldn't just turn around and leave if this wasn't what they wanted, but Nick just wants to be sure. Wants to be really, really sure. It's not like he wants to make things weird between them on the ice and it's really not like he wants to ever have to explain to someone else why that is if it happens.

Beau sighs, heavily, and rolls his eyes before reaching over to grab a fistful of Nick's shirt, tugging him closer. "Yes," he says impatiently, and then they're kissing again, and this time Beau isn't shy at all; this time he's got his tongue in Nick's mouth pretty much immediately, squirming around on the couch in an attempt to swing his leg over Nick's thighs to actually just wind up in his lap for real. It probably would've been easier if he'd done that first, but Nick can appreciate the effort involved in doing that without breaking the kiss.

"Are you—” sure, Nick wants to ask, but apparently he’s being overruled on this, or maybe Beau’s just as impatient as Nick wants to be. 

It’s easier, of course, because they’ve done this before. They might have only done it once, technically, but Nick remembers how Beau likes to kiss, maybe spent a little more time than he necessarily wants to admit thinking about it after, too, and so he can recreate that. Can fall right back into the rhythm of that.

Beau makes a happy noise against his mouth and shifts his weight, slides a hand familiarly under Nick’s shirt and curls it around his side, brushing upward with the heel of his hand. It feels good; Nick likes being touched, and okay, it’s been a while too, but it’s not really where Nick wants his attention. Not where Nick’s aching to have his hands.

Although Beau’s hands aren’t the only ones in play.

Almost as Nick is slowly putting that thought together, he feels the couch cushion dip a little as the weight on it shifts, as Josh moves smoothly from the far end of the couch to a much closer vantage point. He’s right next to Nick now, twisting in place enough that he can see both Nick and Beau—and fuck, if Beau’s going to spend this much time swapping bodily fluids with him then maybe Nick should start using his given name more often. As hard as it is to change that habit.

Beau— _Anthony_ makes another sound into Nick’s mouth then, more urgently, and Nick opens his eyes—as weird as that feels when kissing someone—to see that Josh is leaning in, his mouth right by Anthony’s ear, his arm curving around his back. Given the tone of voice, Nick’s pretty sure Josh just grabbed his ass, and, well, he can’t blame him.

Nick pulls back, eventually, tries to catch his breath, although he can’t seem to take his hands off Beau where they’re settled easily at his waist, spanning narrow hips and tantalizingly close to bare skin. He’s not sure if it helps or if it does the exact opposite that Nick knows exactly how easy it’d be to get him more naked.

Although—maybe not. Nick’s not the only variable here, and Josh is a pretty fucking important unknown. And as much as Nick likes Beau—as much as he liked sleeping with him months ago, and as much as he’d like to do it again—he likes him enough that he doesn’t want to mess up what he’s got going on with Josh. He hasn’t seen either of them smile as much before as they have done in the last few weeks, since about the time that Nick started wondering, and suspecting, and then pretty much assuming that they were hooking up. They seem to be good for each other, and they seem _happy_ , and as much as Nick would love to just go along with whatever’s happening without asking questions that might make it stop… he can’t quite be selfish enough to ignore all his concerns about what’s motivating this.

“I have to admit I didn’t expect this,” Nick says carefully. Building up to asking _why_ seems incredibly difficult, as well as disingenuous; Nick’s not egotistical—at least, not any more than most professional athletes, he thinks—but he’s also not going to sell himself short. It’s not that he can’t figure out why someone would be hitting on him or looking for a hookup, but why then, and why both of them when they could so clearly already just go home together. Nick’s pretty sure they’ve been sharing a hotel room for a couple of weeks now, so it can’t be just that they’re looking to get laid. Or maybe they’re looking to spice things up a little.

That might hurt, a little, somewhere in the back of his chest, but Nick’s also enough of a realist to know that wouldn’t stop him saying yes.

“Um,” Beau says, tongue-tied, and he turns to look at Josh, his face a mute entreaty for him to do the talking.

Nick can sympathize. He’s not exactly one to run his mouth a lot even with his closest friends. And whatever seems to be happening then, Anthony and Josh do both qualify as friends, ones he’s happy to spend time with and looks forward to getting to know better. Their season this year might’ve been kind of a write-off; close but not close enough, but there’s still plenty to look forward to.

Josh shrugs, his shoulders lifting, the corner of his mouth quirking up. Nick’s spent a couple weeks reminding himself not to appreciate too obviously how attractive he is, but he guesses he’s allowed to look this time. Especially since he’s got Josh’s boyfriend in his lap making a very obvious pass. Josh is _hot_ ; his face expressive and open, the scruff that could develop into a pretty decent beard dark along his jawline, and Nick’s eyes have glanced past him enough in the locker room to know he looks good under that shirt, too.

“I wanted to say something earlier,” Josh says, and Nick’s eyebrows go up almost without his permission. This is—off the map, or at least not close to anything Nick was expecting to hear.

Josh just keeps talking, like he hasn’t noticed Nick’s face changing, although the careful attention he’s paying to Nick’s reaction is clear in the way his eyes keep moving, darting back up to meet Nick’s gaze before glancing over at Beau again too. “—because, well, you know me and Anthony are, uh—”

“Boyfriends?” Nick suggests delicately. He’d like to know exactly how serious they are about each other before he potentially gets himself involved. One messy breakup per career would still be one too many, and Nick’s come worryingly close to that before, enough to be even more careful ever since. He really had meant to stop even half-imagining getting off with anyone on his team, but he’s already trashed that resolution this year, so why not absolutely annihilate it even more spectacularly?

“Yeah,” Josh says, and Nick sees his body relax a little, some lingering tension that Nick hadn’t quite noticed at first leaving his frame. “But we like you a lot too, and honestly it’s kind of unfair if Beau’s the only one who actually got to hit that, uh, I mean,” and for the first time in a while Josh actually looks his age; young and a little sheepish, awkward as he tries to dig himself out of that one. “That you guys hooked up already. And he thought you might be into this if we asked, but probably that’s not a conversation you wanna have in the middle of the season, so, uh. We waited. But now it’s not like that’s going to be a distraction, and I guess if you’re not into this then you can go home to Michigan or whatever—”

“Minnesota,” Nick corrects automatically, although the glint in Josh’s eye suggests that he’d been making a deliberate dig and not just forgetting where Nick’s from.

“—but, like. If you’re up for it, we are too,” Josh finishes, and tilts his chin up, determined, not breaking Nick’s gaze.

Nick feels hot all over, and it’s not only or entirely due to the fact he’s got a good one-eighty pounds of enthusiastic nineteen year old in his lap. Beau’s shifting his weight while they talk, impatient or nervous, Nick can’t quite tell which, but he can tell that his body is enjoying it, his dick perked right up and sending his hind-brain unambiguous messages about what a great idea all of this is, right away, thank you very much.

“I’m not saying I’m not,” Nick says. “But, uh. Define ‘it’ for me. Is this just—just now, is this a one-time only offer?”

Not that Nick would say no to that, he’s not going to lie to himself. But his self-respect demands that he at least pretend to think it over first.

“Not—not unless you want it to be,” Beau says, his voice still soft as he finally speaks up, but it’s silk covering steel, a quiet and implacable determination. “Josh isn’t—maybe that wasn’t clear enough, but we _like you_. Both of us.”

Nick blinks. Anthony seems to be suggesting—

“Like me as in, like. Thirteen-year-olds passing notes in class like me?” That’s honestly a little surprising. Nick could’ve expected a brief attraction based almost wholly on the fact that they’re all in shape and well built and safe to touch, safe enough to quench a physical urge and the desire for closeness and some affection, but this seems like it might be more than that. Nick’s not sure he wants to let himself get his hopes up about that, though.

“Like you as in ask how you feel about, like. Relationships, and not just really fucking hot three-ways,” Josh corrects, and maybe he’s about as good with words as Nick is—which is to say passable but not about to give Shakespeare a run for his money—but he also sounds completely sure of himself, completely comfortable with that idea.

“Well, I’m flattered you think the sex would be good,” Nick says, and if Beau wasn’t plastered right up against him he would hardly have noticed the way he tenses up at that, his face falling ever so fractionally, disappointed in a way that makes Nick feel all of two inches tall for a second. Shit, that wasn’t at all what he’d meant to say, or at least not how he’d meant to say it. “Fuck, no, I mean. I would really like that, I haven’t, uh, had a threesome? But I’d definitely be happy to try. I just, uh,” fuck, Nick really doesn’t know how to say it, floundering a little as he tries to marshal the correct words. “I mean. I like both of you, too, and I have no idea how that works with three people, but I think it could be good.”

Beau relaxes again, a huge grin breaking across his face, and yeah, if the way that makes Nick’s heart rate jump is any indication then he's definitely on the right track. Josh is beaming as well, and looking at the both of them in a way that makes Nick feel like his skin is going to catch fire spontaneously if he gets any hotter. This could—this could definitely be really good. It's probably going to involve enough talking and feelings that Nick would rather take a full body ice bath than think about too closely, but—it's probably going to be worth it, too.

“So does this mean we can quit pretending like you’re going to order anything fancier than pizza and get naked?” Josh asks, straightforward as ever.

“Yeah,” Nick says, all in a rush. “Fuck, yeah, let’s do that. Um, although maybe in my bedroom and not on the couch, I just bought that.”

Beau snickers, and Josh outright giggles, but they both get up _fast_ , and by the time the three of them make it into Nick’s room there are significantly fewer clothes remaining on any of them, and Nick is just incredibly, deeply thankful for the fact he’d gotten a larger than he really needed for just one person bed.

This whole thing is definitely looking up.

* * *

If Nick had thought about it much before then, he's not sure if this is exactly how he'd imagined a threesome going. Like, he's seen porn, but that's choreographed, and kind of more about getting good camera angles than people really into making each other feel good. And this—

Well, it definitely feels good.

It had been awkward for all of three seconds after they'd walked into his bedroom, but they've all spent enough time with each other to be comfortable in the same space. Watching Josh and Beau strip off is, thankfully, nothing like being in the locker room, and not just because Nick's room smells a thousand times better. Instead, he gets to watch them shrug out of their shirts, dropping jackets over the top of his dresser. Josh grins at him and then reaches over to start unbuttoning and unzipping _Beau's_ pants, letting his hands linger in a way that makes Beau's breath come short and fast before he shoves his slacks down. Josh leans in and kisses him, soft and sweet and totally dirty, both of them making enough noise that Nick has to press his palm over his dick and count to ten silently. It's incredibly, ridiculously hot, and Nick can't remember the last time he was this turned on. And fuck, he gets to watch that _and_ more.

"Come over here," Beau says when Josh finally straightens up again and lets go of him. He's breathy, his eyes wide, biting his lip unconsciously, and Nick remembers that from last time, remembers the way he tasted and sounded and felt. God, he's wanted to do this again, and it's even better to think that he can do this with Josh, too.

Josh, who's clearly spent the last five or six weeks learning exactly what Beau likes and how to work with that. Josh, who's tall enough to be exactly at Nick's eye level, which means it's even easier than usual for Nick's gaze to drop to his mouth, to think about kissing him. He's pretty sure Josh would go for that. He doesn't think they'd be here, in this situation if he wasn't into that. But making the first move seems oddly difficult.

And besides, it's not like he's not enjoying watching. Josh is a little taller than Beau, although not by much, and they're about the same size, built lean, rangy where they haven't quite bulked up yet the way the team's nutrition and training staff would probably like. Not that it seemed to hold either of them back this season. Nick's enjoying watching their ease with each other: the casual, almost proprietary way that Josh smooths his hand over Beau's ass, the way Beau can't quite hold back a pleased sound, before he tugs at Josh's zipper. Josh's pants are undone and starting to slide down through gravity alone by the time Nick manages to get his feet working well enough to move towards them, and Nick's definitely enjoying that view, too.

"You can do more than look," Josh says, sounding somewhere between impatient and inexplicably shy, and stupidly enough, that makes Nick feel ten times more self-conscious all of a sudden, now that they're both looking at him. It's so dumb; it's not like he hasn't done this before, it's not like Beau hasn't already seen whatever weird faces he makes when he's about to come. Beau's probably the most comfortable of all of them; at least he's been there, so to speak, with them both.

At least, Nick's assuming. He'd probably be more shocked if they hadn't been hooking up for weeks than he is by this whole threesome thing.

"Kinda looks like Beau's doing all the work there now," Nick manages to say, his throat feeling scratchy and dry.

"I could use a hand," Beau says, grinning, and Nick and Josh groan in unison, sharing a speaking look.

"Why are you still dressed, anyway?" Josh asks, turning his head to look at Nick properly, as if he doesn't have Beau naked and pressed up against him; like his hands aren't moving familiarly over his skin. Like Beau doesn't have a hand shoved down the back of Josh's pants either, shamelessly groping his ass.

Nick is… an idiot, he thinks with a brief shining moment of clarity. He could be a part of the hottest thing he's seen in months, if not years, and he's just standing there _watching_. It's not as if he could get any clearer of an invitation.

"Right, good point," Nick says, feeling suddenly giddy, committing himself to just fucking going for it. It's faster if he just undresses himself, his shirt dropping onto the floor beside his feet, belt undone and slacks joining it a couple of seconds later. He slides his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs, the elastic stretching out, and he pauses for just long enough to note that they're both watching him with intense interest.

"That's more like it," Josh says, openly staring as Nick shoves his briefs down and off.

Beau murmurs something Nick doesn't catch, but Josh just grins and says "yeah," pitched low and just for his ears, so Nick's got a couple of guesses about _that_.

"Okay," Nick says, looking from Beau to Josh and back again. "Uh, what now?"

"We should get Josh naked too," Beau suggests, which is—sensible.

Nick's not sure how much that's going to be a group effort though, since Beau's already got his hands inside Josh's pants and all.

"Some time this century," Josh agrees, wriggling a little, and letting go of Beau's hip long enough to reach out for Nick, making the universal gesture of grabby-hands at him, encouraging him to keep moving closer.

"Not that I'm not enjoying the view," Nick says, glancing down long enough to see Josh's hand cupped familiarly around Beau's dick, thumb dragging up the length as his hand moves. "But yeah. Uh, you might have to stop grabbing his ass for that to work, though."

"There's so much to grab, though," Beau says, somewhat hypocritically, since it's not like he's any less generously endowed.

Nick's been looking. A lot.

Much more than he should have been, anyway.

"Anthony," Josh complains, and apparently Beau's just as receptive to the shift in tone as well as the rare use of his first name, because he shoves Josh's pants off _fast_ , puddling around his feet on the floor of Nick's bedroom.

So, they're doing this.

"So are you guys going to make out, or what?" Beau's the one that actually says it, although Nick's been thinking it for the last little while. Not sure exactly what's holding him back, because he hadn't hesitated for more than a moment in kissing Beau, even with Josh right there, and Beau certainly didn't have any qualms about kissing Josh with an audience either, so it's just their two points of the triangle that haven't… connected, yet.

Nick really fucking wants to, though.

He looks back at Josh, tries to gauge his interest, to guess where he's at. He's clearly attracted to Nick enough to want to do this whole threesome thing, but Nick's never really been able to figure out how that works. Do you just take turns, or…?

"C'mon Leds," Josh says, something in his tone that isn't quite a dare, but it isn't not, either. "You know you want to."

"I don't see you making the first move either," Nick says, but it's enough of a kick in the ass to push him the last few steps closer, till they're right beside the bed.

Josh turns to face him, his hands falling away from Beau's waist. One starts to reach for Nick, fingers curling around his upper arm, just tight enough that he can feel it, and the other is by his side still, like he's not sure what to do with it. Nick's not sure what to do with his own hands, but by then he's leaning in and pressing his mouth to Josh's, and everything else becomes a secondary concern.

Kissing Josh is a distinctly different experience than kissing Beau was, and it makes Nick wonder if they'll compare notes after, talk about this, about him. That's a little disquieting, and more importantly distracting, so he pushes that thought to the back of his mind and concentrates on the kissing, the way Josh opens up immediately for him. Their lips brush easily, and he doesn't seem to mind the scratch of Nick's beard, not if the way he makes a soft noise in the back of his throat is any indication. There's a warm confidence in the way his tongue tangles with Nick's, the easy give-and-take of the best kind of kisses. If Nick wasn't already turned on and bordering on desperate, this would be getting him there even more quickly.

As they keep kissing, Beau threads his fingers in between Nick's and squeezes his hand encouragingly, and that helps too, makes Nick feel more like this is all three of them and not some kind of weird voyeurism situation.

He's not sure how long they kiss for; it's long enough that Nick's panting a little as they break apart, and he doesn't miss the soft, "Fuck, that was hot," that Beau breathes out right by his ear, his face right there too, open and eager.

Nick kisses him again, quickly; it feels like the thing to do. Beau kisses him back for a couple of seconds, and then pulls back, clearing his throat.

Nick opens his eyes again and looks down; he's somewhat unsurprised to see Beau has both of their hands in his, connected in a closed loop.

"Can we please," Beau says, once he's sure he has their attention, "just get in bed already."

"Right," Nick says, and somehow they sort themselves out, manage to do just that, and without really letting go of each other, which makes it a whole lot more difficult than it needed to be. Nick's not going to complain, though, not with two incredibly hot guys in his bed.

"It's only fair if we get Beau off first, don't you think?" Josh asks, looking at Nick, but touching Beau with the ease of complete familiarity, his fingertips circling his nipple, tugging it between thumb and forefinger when it tightens up in response.

Beau doesn't moan, but he's got his teeth in his lip, breathing hard through his nose. Nick might not have realized his nipples were that sensitive, but he recognizes the reaction, and yeah, he's on board with seeing more of that.

"Works for me," Nick says, and then he adds, "Uh, how do you wanna do this?"

He wouldn't mind stage-directing if he thought that was what they wanted, but he's getting the impression that Josh is the one who knows exactly where they should be pushing each other, and how much, and Nick's more than willing to let him call the play. He's got good instincts; Nick learned that very fast.

"You wanna suck him off?" Josh asks, still running his thumbnail in long arcs over Beau's chest, leaving fine lines on his skin that flush pink in his wake and then fade again. "Heard you're good at that."

Nick and Beau both make noise at that; Nick doesn't think he chokes, quite, but the matter-of-fact way Josh had just said that—that it was something they'd _talked about_ —that throws him for a moment. When he looks back up at Beau's face he's pinker, too, blushing faintly. "You are," Beau says, and gives him a smile that is all the sweeter for the way it makes Nick's face go hot, makes arousal twist in his stomach. If he hadn't already been almost too turned on to focus, well, that would've done it.

"See if you pick up any tips, huh?" Nick jokes, scrambling for equilibrium, and he's gratified to see Josh laughing soundlessly, smug and relaxed as he shuffles closer to Beau on the bed, his hands still wandering.

"C'mon, spread," Josh says, his voice soft and encouraging, knocking his knuckles at the top of Beau's thigh suggestively.

Nick takes that as his cue to move as well, kneeling over Beau's legs and shuffling around as he makes a space between them. He settles in between Beau's legs, hands on the outsides of his thighs, stroking up and down, feeling the rasp of the fine hair there against his palms, feeling the way Beau's muscles tense and then relax again at his touch. Beau's frowning ever so slightly, and breathing slower and more shallowly, trying everything he knows to keep himself under control for Nick.

When it comes down to it—terrible choice of words, Nick thinks to himself, but doesn't share that one—this part is easy. Nick inhales, lets his fingertips trail across Beau's pelvic bone, dipping down through smooth warm skin and coarse dark hair until he's touching his dick, as lightly as he knows how. Beau shivers a little, but otherwise doesn't move, waiting Nick out. His dick is hard, starting to leak already, wet at the head and smearing across the top of his stomach where it bobs. Nick can sympathize, he's in much the same situation. And so's Josh, when Nick takes a moment to glance over and look. Josh is stroking his own dick casually, careful and gentle, like he's keeping himself revved up just enough, but not pushing it. Not going for more yet.

Nick could watch that for a lot longer, and hey, maybe later he'll get to, but right then he's got a different focus. The objective to hand, so to speak.

"C'mon, Leds, please," Beau says, his voice soft and a little higher than usual, eyes wide and desperate. He's lost the glasses at some point—a quick glance shows Nick they're folded neatly on his nightstand—and Nick figures that's fair enough, he's pretty sure Beau can see more than well enough for what they're doing now. His gaze is certainly sharp enough where he's focusing on Nick. Then again, Nick is drawing this out more than he needs to, and he's not usually this much of a tease.

"Right," Nick says, and with one last, quick glance up at Beau and at Josh—both of whom look perfectly satisfied by their life choices, if varying degrees of impatient—he shifts his weight and ducks down, just taking the head of Beau's dick to start with, sucking gently.

He's careful as he slides his mouth further down, lips wet and soft, teeth covered. He curls his tongue over where the head flares out, nudges the vein on the underside with the tip of his tongue, and lets the satisfaction roll right through him at the way that Beau tenses up and shivers in response. He keeps things wet and moving, trying not to make too much of a mess, but there's no real way around that, saliva and precome smearing over Beau's dick, Nick's fingers, Beau's groin. If Nick can get him there fast enough he'll swallow, that's no big deal, but a base, back-of-the-mind instinct has him feeling smug about the prospect of messing him up like this. Getting him filthy. It's difficult to smirk effectively when your mouth is full, but Nick's probably as close as a guy can get to doing that.

And that's not just working for him, either.

Josh reaches over, wraps his fingers around the nape of Nick's neck, just brushing below where the hair on the back of his neck is starting to curl, over-long and in need of a trim. He's gentle with the touch, just light enough that Nick can tell it's asking permission rather than expecting it.

"This okay?" Josh asks, and Nick makes a low moan of encouragement, a recognizable if garbled 'yeah'.

Josh reads him just fine and his hand gets heavier right away, fingertips rubbing slow circles at the top of his spine. It feels like that touch approves and encourages him as Nick pulls off for a second to pant harshly, trying to get enough air, and then again as he goes right back down, sinking in until his lips touch the side of his fingers.

Beau arches up under him, tries to rock up into Nick's mouth, and Nick's on fire with all of this, burning up from the inside out.

"Fuck that's hot," Josh says, and his thumb slips down the side of Nick's throat, presses behind his ear, strokes further down. He has to be able to feel it as Nick swallows hard, flushing hot all over with the intimacy of that touch; has to be able to feel it even more as Beau manages to say, "Nick, I'm—god, I can't—", a garbled desperate mess of syllables that they can both identify as the warning they are.

Beau bucks up under them both, comes hard, and Nick tries to swallow but his timing is off. Josh laughs a little as Nick sits up, conscious of the streaks across his chin, over Beau's stomach, and honestly, Nick can't blame him. Nick's never watched himself have sex—or anyone else, really, porn seriously doesn't count—but he can't imagine that it was the most graceful thing in the world to watch. Hot, sure. But also a little silly; messy and real the way that the best sex is. He's pretty sure Josh would agree with that, especially if the enthusiasm with which he leans right in and kisses Nick before he even has a chance to wipe his mouth is any indication.

"So fucking hot," Josh murmurs, when they pull apart again, and he swipes his thumb over Nick's cheek, helping him clean up.

"Uhh, yeah," Beau echoes, still sprawled out limply—in every sense of the word—on the mattress, looking up at them, eyes bright as he watches them kiss. He looks happy enough, Nick thinks with satisfaction.

Nick lets his hand settle on the side of Josh's ribs, fingers trailing suggestively down towards the bowl of his hip. "We getting you next?" he asks, eyebrow raised.

"I'm gonna help," Beau says, blinking fast, his gaze laser focused where Nick's touching Josh. Where Josh is touching Nick right back, one leg folded up underneath him, all his weight leaning towards Nick and, by extension, Beau. It's probably not terribly comfortable, but he's not complaining and he's not backing off at all. And it's getting Nick even more turned on, the unmistakable evidence of how much Josh wants this too. Nick's known since training camp that he's got sweet hands; having them on his skin is even more intoxicating than watching him play.

"I can go down on you," Nick offers, licking his lips absently. His mouth feels just the slightest bit bruised, sensitive and maybe a little swollen, _used_ , but he wouldn't say no to more of that. Besides, his pride is on the line. He's meant to be the veteran, the one who knows what he's doing, the one who's confident and experienced.

"Mmm, yeah," Josh says easily, lifting his free hand to trace the shape of Nick's mouth with his thumb, grinning sharply when Nick gives in to temptation and licks his hand. "Jeez, okay, fine, gimme a sec."

Nick lets go and lets him resettle himself; he takes the opportunity to move so that Beau can stretch out his legs again and roll onto his side to watch, too.

Nick shifts around, gets himself comfortable, and does his best to not focus on just how badly he wants to get off now; he can wait, he can absolutely wait. Josh is wound more tightly than Nick would have expected, and when Nick gets his hands back on him he can feel the tension in his muscles, the fine tremor in his thighs.

"You okay?" Nick asks, looking up to catch Josh's gaze. He wants to be careful. This isn't exactly anything that any of them can take back afterward, not without further consequences.

"Uh, yeah," Josh says, his voice slightly higher than usual, breathy in a way that makes Nick's stomach twist with hot satisfaction.

"Sure about that?" he asks, can't resist pushing just a little.

Josh rolls his eyes and tries to find a convincingly sarcastic retort, but all he can come up with is, "oh right, I forgot, I hate it when an attractive guy sucks my dick," and that actually kills the mood a little for a moment, because all three of them crack up laughing.

"Really though," Nick says, when he gets himself calmed down again, settles in place, eyes on the prize and all that. "Just say if you want something else, okay?"

"Sure thing," Josh says. "Uh, you're good now," he adds, somewhat unnecessarily, but Nick appreciates the reinforcement. He's pretty sure he's not off base in reading that as encouragement. Really strong encouragement, if the way Josh squirms in front of him is any indication, his hips moving as he tries to get closer to Nick, dick bobbing against his stomach, leaving faint streaks that catch the light.

Nick looks his fill for a moment longer, appreciating the view. He doesn't miss the way that Beau's inching closer to the both of them, watching just as avidly as Nick is. As Josh was, when Nick was touching Beau.

And then Nick thinks, now or never, and gets his hand on Josh's dick—Josh hisses appreciatively and mutters "come _on_ "—and holds it steady while he sinks right down.

Josh is heavy against his tongue, feels good in his mouth; warm and wet and responsive. He makes a lot of noise as Nick sucks him off, yelps a little when Nick traces his circumcision scar with his tongue, and he curses solidly when Nick gets him close and then pulls off to mouth over his balls instead. Nick feels like his lips are buzzing, over-sensitized, but fuck, he doesn't want to stop either. He just feels himself getting hotter and hotter, and if he's grinding into the mattress a little while he gets Josh off, well, who could blame him?

"I can't tell if that looks as hot as it feels or the other way around," Beau says, and he seems to have recovered by then, crawling half onto Josh to kiss him some more, pinning him down across his chest and shoulder.

Nick can look up just enough to see that much, but he turns his attention back to Josh's dick too fast to notice when Beau twists around and reaches down. Beau's fingertips move slow and careful, curious but undaunted as they brush through the dark hair around Josh's dick, stroking up from the root and then rubbing across Nick's lips when he gets to them. His thumb brushes against Nick's cheek, and Nick sucks harder, cheeks hollowing out a little and Beau makes an appreciative noise like it's been punched out of him.

Beau must have stopped kissing Josh—Nick can't really look to check, now—because Josh starts talking again, fast and urgent, telling them both how hot this is. Nick's only about half-tracking that, listening more for tone than content, but he tunes back in in a hurry as Josh says, "—fuck, Beau, you should—" which doesn't really make sense to Nick, but then Beau's fingers come back to touch where he's got his mouth on Josh. His touch ghosts over where their skin meets at first, and then Beau pushes, his intent clear at last. Nick lets him slip his thumb into his mouth as well, feels the stretch as he takes that as well as Josh's dick, and Josh bucks underneath him again too, says, "Fuck," with deep feeling. Nick's not entirely sure but he thinks Beau's rubbing his thumb against Josh's dick inside his mouth, and that's—well, Nick's never been closer to coming without a hand on him since he was an actual teenager. Fuck, how is this even his life?

Between the two of them, they work Josh over until he's a sweaty, desperate mess, eyes wild and breath coming in fast gasps. Nick pulls off in time to finish him off with his hand and Beau's tangled together, watches his face as Josh's expression twists and smooths out as he comes, watches the way he spills over their hands and thinks that yeah, he wants to do this again, a lot.

Nick's right on the edge himself by then, and honestly could probably come in about a second flat, but he tries to remember to breathe through his nose, forces himself to slow down and cool off. He wants to be able to really enjoy this. And he has a funny feeling that neither Josh nor Beau would appreciate him jerking himself off while he waits for them to get themselves together again enough to help.

Then again, apparently they're both into watching, so maybe they would. Nick's thinking in circles about this in an attempt to not just let go then and there, really.

"Fuck, that was amazing," Josh says eventually, his voice deeper than Nick thinks he's ever heard it, low and satisfied, the cat that got all of the cream and then went back for seconds.

Nick rubs the back of his hand against his mouth and tosses up his next options. He doesn't really want to move out of bed any time soon, so that narrows things down pretty well.

"Shove over a bit," he says instead, and taps Josh's hip, waits for him to shuffle sideways, closer to Beau. Nick climbs over his knee as he does, gets a hand on his own dick for a moment of relief, and then stretches out carefully right beside him.

"You didn't get off yet," Josh says, not even trying to hide the glance he'd taken down to check. He rolls onto his side to face Nick properly, runs the back of his hand lightly over Nick's chest and down towards his belly, towards his groin. His knuckles bump lightly over Nick's ribs, skin catching on hair, and Nick shivers a little, feeling the aftershocks of even such an innocent touch ricochet through him.

"Figured I could wait a bit," Nick says, his own voice rough and unsteady now. Shit, he's so close.

"We can take care of that now," Josh offers. "If that's still okay?"

Nick exhales shakily. "Uh, yeah," he says. He's not going to be picky at all, especially if he's probably going to go off ten seconds after someone touches him.

"Anthony, babe," Josh says, twisting to talk over his own shoulder, "how about you move—" and apparently that on-ice communication is just an extension of the two of them reading each other off it, too, because Josh never even finishes his sentence before Beau's moving to follow the suggestion. Nick can see glimpses over Josh's side, the blur of motion behind his shoulder and hip, but he's pretty distracted by Josh right there and touching him, by being able to look and touch his fill.

"Just a sec," Beau says, and then the mattress shifts as he stands up, walks quickly around the bed and climbs back in on the other side, cuddling right up on Nick's other side. Nick can't blame him; there's no good way to try and climb over two people on a bed when you've all got clothes on; doing it naked seems like asking for trouble. "Roll over, Leds," he adds, digging his index finger into Nick's side, high on his ribs where he's more ticklish than he likes to admit.

Nick does as he's told, lets himself relax into the moment, letting them take over. He's going to be easy-going now, or at least he's going to be easy; it's not going to take much and he gets the impression that they know that.

He shifts so that he's lying on his side, flails a little while he tries to figure out what to do with his arms. By the time all of them settle into place he has one hand draped low over Josh's back, just above the swell of his ass, can feel the heat coming off his skin even where they're not quite touching. He's using his other hand to brace himself, but that's becoming increasingly redundant as Josh ducks closer to kiss him again, and as Beau presses himself even closer, his chest snugged right up against Nick's back, his breath warm on the back of his neck, the two of them sandwiching him easily. Beau's still soft, and Nick can feel the way his dick stirs just a little at the friction, blood-warm and sticky against Nick's ass, and okay, that's maybe something to pursue later, but right then Nick just wants at least a hand on his dick, something, _anything_.

He must give away something of the desperation that's starting to overwhelm his control and his better intentions, making incoherent noises into Josh's mouth before he pulls away. Josh scrapes his teeth gently over Nick's lower lip before saying, "I got you, hey," and finally, _finally_ curling his hand around Nick's cock. Nick shakes for a second, a full body shudder borne of overwhelming sensation and the pure relief of it. Nick doesn't remember any of them going for any kind of lube or anything, but Josh's hand is pleasantly wet, moves slickly over his length, tightening at the head in a way that makes Nick's eyes widen as he hisses, inhaling sharply, rocked by how good it feels.

"Oh, oh fuck," Nick mumbles, his hands scrabbling on Josh's side, trying to get a grip on something, anything, an imperfect substitute for his fraying sense of control.

"Wait a sec," Beau complains, his voice right by Nick's ear, and then his hand slides over Nick's flank as well, darts in between Nick and Josh's bodies so that he's touching Nick too, his fingers tangling with Josh's as he jerks Nick off.

"Fuck," Nick says, even louder, knows that his face has to be bright red, his eyes wide, and he's hot and sticky and sweating all over, but god, he can't remember feeling this good before. Not for a long time.

Josh just grins at him, his face right by Nick's as they share breath, share the moment, all three of them pressed together so intimately. Just like that, Nick's orgasm sweeps up through him, curling his toes and making him twist and arch between them, overwhelming him, something like the wave you don't see coming until it's swamped you and sent you somersaulting off balance, the whole world spinning incoherently for an immeasurable moment. 

Nick feels like his brain full-on whites out for a second or two, and by the time he's firing on all cylinders again it's to find himself flat on his back, staring up at his bedroom ceiling trying to remember how to breathe.

When he turns to look, Beau is still beside him, still lying on his side, but his eyes are only half open and he's obviously fighting a yawn. Nick grins at him anyway, knows he has to look incredibly dopey, but fuck, he can't help it.

"That was fun," Beau says softly, somehow sounding even sleepier than he looks. "Gonna nap now."

"You do that," Nick replies, before turning to his other side to check in with Josh.

Josh is lying face-down by then, his face mashed into the side of a pillow Nick hadn't noticed him grabbing, but his eyes are still open and fixed on Nick, his expression a mix of warmth and caution, like he's not sure where this is going to go from there, now that everyone is—theoretically—satisfied and thinking clearly again.

"Hey," Nick says softly. "Thank you, that was—uh. That was really good." He means all of it, not just Josh jerking him off, his grip perfect and inexorably good, and that must come across, because Josh relaxes slightly, that indefinable tension going out of his shoulders again. God, Nick feels good. He doesn't want to let this go, definitely doesn't think he could, actually, have let this be a one time thing. Not if it doesn't have to be. Call him greedy, but he wants this all the time, if he can have it.

And given how comfortable Beau and Josh both seem to be in his bed, well, he's probably not the only one who thinks that way.

"You wanna nap now too?" Nick asks him. It has been kind of a long day.

"I think it's late enough it's just going to sleep," Josh says, a little ruefully. "I think Beau's already out."

Nick looks back over his shoulder for a second and he is; his mouth open and eyes closed, every indication that he's fast asleep already.

"That's kind of impressive," Nick says to Josh, making more of an effort to speak quietly this time.

"He's always like that," Josh says with a shrug, fond and resigned. "You don't mind us crashing here, do you?"

"I'm really good with it," Nick assures him. "I, uh. I think we'll have to talk about this more in the morning," and he's not looking forward to that really; Nick prefers actions to words nine times out of ten, but he has the feeling this really is going to be okay. "—but he's not wrong, I think we could all do with the sleep now."

"Sounds good to me," Josh says, before sitting up just long enough to drag the covers from the foot of the bed up and over all three of them.

Nick's a mess, and he's kind of in the wet spot—a wet spot, god, they kind of wrecked themselves and his sheets, not that he's complaining—but right then and there he doesn't have the slightest urge to change anything, just stretches out a little more and then slings his arm over Josh's side, wriggles till he can feel Beau's warmth at his back, and closes his eyes, perfectly content in that moment.

It might be a little awkward in the morning, but Nick doesn't think he's going out on a limb to expect it's not going to be the last time he gets to wake up with Josh and Beau, but more like the first of many.

And he's really on board with that.

[end]


End file.
